Playing The Game


By Saber ShadowKitten









Angel sidestepped quickly as a bright Vespa scooter buzzed by. The helmetless rider was hunched over the handles, reminding the vampire of the Wicked Witch of the West riding her broomstick. He snorted. It was a scooter, not a Honda Viper racing motorbike.

Shaking his head, he stepped up onto the sidewalk and followed a burly Hell's Angel-type, wearing a leather jacket with the word "Bitch" written across the back in rhinestones, into the gay bar. Loud, annoying music immediately assaulted Angel's senses, but he barely spared a glance at the green, yellow, and blue heads of hair that bobbed to the pulsating beat. Twinks, bears, daddies, and hunks packed the bar, talking, dancing, flirting. Playing the game. Seeking to hook up for a free roll in the hay. Angel had no patience for that particular game tonight. He was playing another game, one that would end in a guaranteed fuck, and soon.

Angel went straight to the back of the establishment, passing under the neon sign that read "Live Entertainment." He nodded to the muscular bouncer guarding the entry, who sized up Angel over the tops of his reading glasses before returning to his book. Angel started down the bleak hall lined with doors, briefly looking through the small windows set into each as he passed. The fourth door on the right snagged his attention, and Angel's eyes flickered over the "Reserved" sign before stepping to the window.

A familiar platinum-blond man sat mostly nude on a black metal folding chair in the center of the small room. He sat with his legs spread wide, still-booted feet flat on the floor, hands bound behind his back. A collar with a metal ring was fastened around his neck. Attached to the ring was a thin length of chain that led from the collar to another ring, on a band wrapped snuggled around the base of his erect cock. A black blindfold covered his eyes.

It was quite easy for Angel to remember why he'd turned Spike. It was quite difficult for him not to tear the door off its hinges and attack the deliciously naked blond vampire. Still, this new development was perfect. Angel wanted to get laid and Spike was there, bound in a kinky way that fueled the brunette's arousal even more. He wasn't going to question how his childe managed to get tied up, but he was going to take advantage of the situation. It wouldn't do, however, to waltz into the room as he was. Spike would scent that it was him in an instant, then the younger vampire would start yapping and Angel wanted sex, not a headache.

Half an hour later, Angel returned to the reserved room, smelling heavily of another young man's emissions. Spike would not be able to scent Angel, which was the point. Angel didn't allow just anyone to ejaculate on him.

The bouncer watched, but did nothing to prevent Angel from entering the reserved room. Such lax security, Angel thought. He might have to say something... later.

The room was not very clean. A cot was shoved against a wall. A table with an assortment of toys, lubricants, and condoms was against another. Spike's clothes were folded in a pile on the table, and a basket of cleaning solution was underneath the table. The walls were textured piss-yellow and an advertizement for cans of Japanese Coca-Cola was taped above the cot. Another picture of a thorned red rose lying on an unmade bed was taped on the opposite wall. The metal folding chair and Spike were probably the only semi-sanitized things in the room.

Spike raised his head when Angel closed the door and opened his mouth, but Angel stopped him from speaking. "Onay eakingspay," the older vampire said in Pig Latin. He wanted his childe to think he was anyone but Angel, Brooding Soulman.

"Do not speak," he repeated, choosing a bad 'Russian-speaking-English-badly' accent. "The only sounds from your mouth may be noises of pleasure."

Spike nodded, although the expression under the blindfold was one of wariness. Angel saw him sniff the air and the wariness increased. Good. That meant Angel's identity was hidden still. But that would change once he touched the blond. Unless...

Angel walked over to the table and scanned the selections. He smiled with horny glee when he found a bottle of friction-heated lubricant. Instant humanity, just add cinnamon flavoring.

"Stand," Angel instructed. There wasn't going to be any foreplay. He felt unclean just being in the room. If he wasn't so damn horny, he'd be at home bathing in a tub of bleach by now.

Angel unfastened his trousers, pushed them down to his thighs, and straddled the chair behind Spike, his eyes almost level with the blond's pert ass. His coat provided a layer of protection between the cool, yucky metal and his backside. Using the hem of his shirt -- he'd burn the shirt later -- he untwisted the cap off the lubricant and dumped some of the red liquid into his cupped hand.

The brunette rubbed his palms together, grinning in anticipation when they became hot. He greased the throbbing length jutting from his body, then wormed a couple of friction-heated fingers between Spike's marblesque ass-cheeks. Spike hissed when Angel's digits breached him, and he reflexively pulled on the restraints binding his wrists behind his back.

"You sit now," Angel said, grabbing Spike's bare hip with one hand. He tugged lightly, pulling Spike down onto his lap. Insert Tab A into Slot B, and yeah, baby!

Angel moaned. Spike moaned. There was much moaning as Angel was sheathed inside Spike's eternally tight body. This was going to be a very short fuck, Angel admitted to himself as the blond's velvety inner-walls spasmed around Angel's turgid length.

"Rock," Angel ordered in his horrid Russian accent. His lubricated-heated hands grasped Spike's lean hips to help.

Angel moaned again as Spike started to move. The blond rocked on Angel's lap as ordered, using powerful leg muscles to raise and lower himself on the older man's steely shaft. Over Spike's shoulder, Angel saw someone watching through the small window in the door, and damn if it didn't excite him more. He thrust up against Spike, earning an echoed moan of pleasure.

Angel continued to meet Spike's downward movements, his fingers bruising the younger man's hips. The chain, running from Spike's neck to cock, jangled with each hard thrust. More and more it jingle-jangle-jingled as the pace increased and the older vampire leaped from the edge of ecstacy. Angel lost sight of their watcher as his orgasm hit, his eyes rolling wildly as white heat coursed from his balls, up his shaft, and out of his body.

He slumped in the chair, spent, and held Spike firmly against him. It took several minutes for him to stop breathing, and by then Spike was whimpering almost subsonically. Angel knew Spike wanted at least a handjob, if not more, to relieve his own tension, but the brunette could feel that the germs were ready to pounce and he wanted to get out of there.

"Stand up," he said, still in his silly Russian accent. Spike stood and Angel used his soon-to-be-ash tee-shirt to wipe his hands before climbing off the chair and straightening his clothes. He then untied Spike's wrists and unhooked the collar from his neck.

Spike pulled off the blindfold and quickly turned around, almost knocking over Angel. "Bloody hell, mate, that wasn't fair."

"Had you going there, didn't I?" Angel said smugly as Spike removed the band from around his erection.

"Cor, if I wasn't on such intimate terms with your cock, I would've thought I really was being buggered by a demented Russian human," Spike said. He mock-scowled at the brunette. "Bastard."

"Serves you right,"Angel said, trying not to touch anything. "This place is disgusting."

"Payback for the ballet," Spike told him, putting his clothing on. "Next time, it's your choice where we play the game. But no soddin' operas, capice? Even a blow from you in public isn't worth putting up with all that screeching."

"Fine. No operas." Angel gestured to the door. "Can we go home now? I feel icky. I want to shower."

"Yes, we can go home now so you can shower and I can fuck you in the shower," Spike replied with a roll of his eyes. He pocketed the collar and chain, earning a raised brow from his sire. "It's mine, you dolt. You don't think I'd actually use something from here?"

Angel's second brow joined the first. "Yours, huh?"

"You can enjoy it more another time," Spike said, urging Angel to move. "Right now: home, fuck, happy Spike."

"Three things I like tremendously," Angel said with a smile, and he led the way out the door.



End